


Unfolding of Miscalculations

by theadventuresof



Category: Death Note
Genre: Gen, M/M, Oneshot, UST, University Arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 09:08:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9540953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theadventuresof/pseuds/theadventuresof
Summary: You know what they say about war. Or, Light Yagami has a bit of a revelation.





	

_ Sweep them off their feet, _ reads the crinkled chocolate wrapper in Light’s hands. He pops the candy in his mouth and lets it melt on his tongue for a bit, contemplating the flavor. Milk chocolate was never really to his taste. His shoulders are sore from repeated late nights of name-writing, and he tilts his head back, trying to alleviate some of the pain. Next to him on the sofa, L is pulverizing his sixth truffle, rotating it between two fingers and shaving tiny bits of chocolate off the edge with his teeth. Wrappers are scattered across the floor and at his pale feet. Light has to laugh a bit at  _ What are you waiting for? _ and  _ Hit snooze again _ lying in close proximity on the sofa cushion between them, but then he supposes that L has never had to hit snooze in his life. Actually, Light doubts he has ever made use of a bed.

It’s infuriating, knowing so little about him, Light thinks, absentmindedly smoothing out  _ Sweep them off their feet  _ with careful fingers. They’ve been back to the coffee shop twice this week, and they went out for sushi last night—now it’s Sunday night, and they have psychology together in the morning, but Light’s considering taking the day off to go see Soichiro in the hospital. 

Just last year, he would never have considered taking a day off from classes. Actually—he thinks back to the start of university—what has changed? Well, aside from the obvious. This is the first time in his entire school career that he’s consistently gone out to eat with another person, the first time in his life that he’s found a peer genuinely interesting.  _ Is this what it’s going to take for me to receive emotional stimulation?  _ Light thinks.  _ A ruthless detective out for my blood, unless I can get to him first? _

“What are you thinking about, Light?” L says, starting on his seventh truffle.

Light’s fingers slip and his thumbnail slices through the nearly flattened foil. It tears neatly in half. Light bites back a curse. Right—conversation.

He arranges his face into a look of polite amusement. “How you got wasabi in your eye last night and the manager almost called an ambulance,” he says. “You’re lucky I was there to stop him.”

L raises an invisible eyebrow. “You weren’t nearly so calm last night,” he says, but he looks amused. 

“Neither were you.” Light arches his back, twisting his arm slightly to get at his aching shoulder from a different angle. He winces.

“What is it?”

“It’s nothing,” Light says. “Knot in my shoulder.”

L shuffles closer, disrupting the array of chocolate wrappers. “Would you like a massage, Light?”

_ Sweep them off their feet. _

“Excuse me?”

“A massage,” L repeats, impatient. He flexes his long fingers to demonstrate. 

Floored, Light undergoes some very rapid mental acrobatics, trying to decide whether rejecting these advances will raise or lower his percentage. He is unable to conclude anything. The whole situation is so bizarre that he has no earthly idea how to respond. His shoulders  _ are  _ sore, though.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, feeling slightly like he’s being propositioned. Oddly, he doesn’t really mind. If it was anyone else, he thinks, he wouldn’t have agreed. And, sure, things are a bit weird between them, but haven’t they always been? Right now Light is hovering comfortably in the region of  _ not as weird as it could be _ , and it’s...yeah, it’s fine. He gets on his stomach on the sofa.

Um.

L smells really good. Like,  _ extremely  _ good.

Light presses his cheek flat against the cushion, staring up at L, who thankfully isn’t straddling him but has perched just to his left, leaning in close to his upper back. “Could be a result of bad posture,” L says, and Light snorts. 

“Could it?” he says pointedly. L practically flattens himself to Light’s shoulder blades and presses his fingers into the material of Light’s sweater.

“My body is completely acclimated to my unorthodox posture,” L says, and Light is almost certain he’s lying through his teeth. Whatever smart remark he had planned completely escapes him as L does some incredible rolling motion with the pads of his fingers against Light’s spine. 

“What, are you a chiropractor on the side or something?” he manages, miraculously. L’s fingers are working their way up the small of his back. Honestly, this is the closest he’d  _ ever _ allow another human being to get to him. And  _ this  _ one is trying to sentence him to death.  _ Getting weirder, _ Light mentally adds.  _ Still, not as weird as it could be. _

“I am simply...intimately versed in the inner workings of the human body,” L says, pressing his palms to Light’s shoulder blades. 

Weirdness quotient: still rising. Light ponders this choice of words, but finds that he’s not overly concerned. He can feel himself sinking blissfully into the sofa cushions. If he relaxes any more than this, he’s going to start drooling. Or worse.

Panic overtakes him out of nowhere. This  _ must _ be a part of the game; L  _ must _ have ulterior motives. What if he—what if he’s lulling him into some sort of trance? Hypnosis? He feels dizzy. What if he starts blurting out case information—or worse, what if he actually outright confesses? 

“You’re tensing up,” L says.

Light does his best fake laugh. “Sorry,” he says, and L continues. Okay, seriously, has L always smelled this good? And his fingers are long and nimble and sort of cold but it feels nice and Light can hear him breathing softly, can hear the fabric of his shirt whispering against his shoulders as he moves... _ whoa there, Yagami, get a hold of yourself,  _ he thinks. Even if something were to happen—

—and Light wouldn’t mind it if it did—

—this isn’t the place, or the time, because this is a public common room in a public university and Light’s father is in the hospital and the Kira case is in full swing and the man kneading gently against Light’s shoulders is still set in his goal of putting Light to death...

_ Sweep them off their feet. _

L’s phone goes off on the floor and the detective stoops to retrieve it. He flips the thing open, pinches it between two fingers. “Yes,” he says, suddenly businesslike. “I understand. I’ll be there momentarily.” He hangs up, and turns to Light. “Something urgent has come up,” he says. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

And he gets up and shuffles towards the door, shoes half-on.

Light mentally shakes himself. What was he expecting—a subtle, yet passionate kiss goodbye? Or for L to say,  _ sorry, the case is on hold, I am noticing a definite spark here and will have to call you back? _ Or, even more absurd,  _ I am cancelling the Kira case, as Light Yagami’s allure is utterly overpowering? _ A candlelit dinner and a generic star-crossed romance to rival the ones on the shows Sayu is always watching at dinnertime? Please.

_ There’s something there, _ Light decides, watching the door to the common room swing closed as L exits.  _ There’s definitely something. _


End file.
